"You sound like Dean."
"Where do you think he learned that shit?"
I can't help but laugh. "There were bright colors in there."
He shoots me a look get real.
I set the powder blue suit on the rack. It is a little eighties. Okay, really eighties. "How about navy?" I move to the next rack. Pick up a classy suit in a perfect soft navy. "It will bring out your eyes."
"So will black."
Like his glasses. Mmm, Ryan in glasses. Ryan in nothing but glasses. Ryan in nothing.
Ahem.
I shake it off. Move to another rack. The air conditioner's hum drowns out the elevator music. It's quiet in the menswear section. We're the only customers here.
"This is perfect." Ryan holds up the black suit.
"You'll look like you're going to a funeral."
"Maybe I am."
"Oh." Frustration slips into my voice.
"Not like that, Leigh."
I swallow hard. "Like what?"
The guy behind the counter motions to us need help?
I wave him over.
Ryan shoots me a look. Was that necessary?
I nod.
He moves close enough to whisper. "I feel a little less sick every time I see her." He runs his thumb over the soft black wool. "Part of me wants her to marry him."
"Part?"
"More every day." His breath warms my ear. "Three weeks and it could be all of me. This could be the end of her hold on me."
Or he could stand up during the ceremony and say I know why you can't wed. I still love you. And they could ride into the sunset together.
"Can I help you find anything?" The salesguy flashes us a serene smile.
"Yes, thanks. Can you convince my…" What the hell do I call Ryan? "Can you convince him he shouldn't wear black to a beach wedding?"
"It's whatever the bride wants," the salesguy says. "You must be used to that by now."
"No, we're not." I swallow hard. "It's not our—"
Ryan laughs at my nervousness. "All right. If you insist, baby. I'll try a grey suit."
"Excellent." The salesguy turns to me. "Please, have a seat. I'll make sure he's taken care of." He whisks Ryan toward the dressing room.
I settle onto the plush blue couch. Stare into the three-panel mirror. Between the smoky eye, the soft purple hair, and the raspberry lips, I do look every part the punk rock princess.
But it doesn't satisfy me the way it usually does.
Looking hot and tough isn't enough.
I want to feel safe, strong, desired, competent. My website is finished. It's ready. But I'm not.
I'm not ready to leave the security of Inked Hearts. To ask people to part with their money for my designs.
To give up seeing Ryan every day.
"Ms. Black, he's ready for you." The salesman offers me his hand.
I nod a thanks and follow him into the dressing room.
"Usually, we don't allow women in here, but seeing as how we're empty, I can make an exception." He winks at me. Keep this between us and buy something really expensive to thank me in commission form.
I shoot him my best smile then step into the dressing room.
My jaw hits the floor.
Ryan.
In.
A.
Suit.
He…
I…
Uh…
He runs a hand through his wavy hair. "That bad?"
"No." I shake my head. Study every detail of him—the grey jacket hugging his shoulders, the white oxford shirt snug against his chest, the black belt securing his slacks to his hips.
The shiny black dress shoes.
Like he's ready to stand at the altar next to me.
I mean…
He…
Uh… "You look perfect."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Too perfect.
He picks up the lilac tie draped over a hook. "Can't remember how to put this on."
"I do."
"An ex?" He hands over the tie.
My fingers brush his as I take it. "My first serving job." I slide the short end under his collar and loop it twice.
"Bet you looked adorable."
"Definitely not."
"Too bad I can't beg your mom for pics."
I wrap the short end around the long end. "You can. She'll give you anything for a bottle of vodka."
"Leigh—"
"I'm not going there. Don't worry."
"That's not what I mean." His eyelids press together as my fingers brush his neck. "You want to talk, I'm here. Always"
I tie the knot. Slide it up his chest. "Another time." We're close. Barely inches apart. My palm stays flat against his chest. My other hand goes to his hip. "I don't like talking about her." My fingers curl into his belt loop.
"When'd you rock a tie?"
"High school?"
"What were you like then?"
"Younger."
His chuckle is soft. "Not what I mean."
My fingers climb up his chest. Brush his shoulder. "I was the same as I am now. But more naïve. Worse with my makeup. Shit at bleaching my hair."
"I can't imagine you naïve."
"I wanted to believe in people. Guys who said they loved me, mostly."
"You love any of them?"
"I thought so. But now… no. I know what love feels like and it's not that."
His eyes turn down. "You love…"
I swallow hard. "That's not what I mean."
"Yeah, it is." He brushes my hair behind my ear. "Don't handle me with kid gloves."
I shake my head.
He nods. "You've changed in the two years I've known you."
"How?"
His fingers skim my neck. "You don't walk around with the weight of the world on your shoulders."
"I guess not."
"You smile a hell of a lot more."
"Or maybe I smile more around you."
"Maybe. But when we first met you were the Ryan."
I laugh. "You have a good sense of humor about being miserable."
"I have to."
My voice drops to a whisper. "You smile more too."
"Yeah."
"You're happier?"
He nods.
"Because you're getting over her?"
"I am. But that's not it."
I stare up into his eyes. "Then why?"
"Leigh…" His fingers curl into my hair.
My eyelids press together.
He cups my cheek with his palm. Runs his thumb over my temple.
"Say it."
"Leigh…" His other hand goes to the small of my back. He pulls my body into his. "You know I can't."
"Please." I lean into his touch. "Please, Ryan."
"You." His voice is sweet. "It's all you."
I rise to my tiptoes.
His lips find mine.
It's soft.
Then harder.
My lips part to make way for his tongue.
He backs me into the wall. Holds my body against his as he pins me.
As his tongue dances with mine.